Trouble Me
by Unoriginality
Summary: He still wanders at night, and I feel helpless to do anything, until I catch him sleeping in my room. (Winter Soldier spoilers)


Bucky's been living with me for the last three months, and I still can't figure out how to get through to him. He says he remembers, acts like he remembers enough to be stable as Bucky rather than what Hydra made him into, but I wonder how much he does- or doesn't- remember. Some days it's like he has trouble thinking past the Winter Soldier, quiet and cold, spending his day sitting up on the roof of the apartment building we live in. I leave him be during those times, not fearful for my safety as much as for his. I don't know what he's thinking about during those times, and it worries me that if I were to try to intrude on his privacy, he might do something rash.

And then there's days where he's almost exactly like the Bucky I remember, smiling and sometimes even laughing over old times, over how crazy the modern world is, and bonding over how food tastes different. Like I said to Sam when we first met, we used to boil everything. Food now is heaven compared to that crap we used to eat. Military rations were better, which is probably saying far more bad about my generation than what I should be admitting to.

But one thing I notice he does is he sleepwalks. He seems to do this no matter what sort of day he's had, Bucky or the Winter Soldier. I hear his bedroom door opening and then muted footsteps on the carpet as he wanders around. I've gotten up and followed him before, staying as silent as possible. He always ends up at the window overlooking the complex's courtyard, just staring down at the ground.

I never alert him to my presence, not sure if he's actually sleepwalking, or if he's just insomniatic, and I don't want him to think that I'm playing fussy nursemaid. Trying to do that seems to only annoy him.

He doesn't do it every night, but the nights he does, he ends up in my bedroom, laying down on the floor on the opposite side of the room from my bed. I wonder idly if the bed's just too soft, the way it is for me sometimes, the way Sam's described it.

For the first month of him ending up on my floor, I don't say anything, letting him do as he will, whatever it takes for him to get some proper sleep, which he can't be getting walking around all night. He's usually gone before I wake up anyway, so I can't catch him in the act.

I finally decide to take matters into my own hands. On one of his bad days, where he spends almost all day up on the roof, I go into his room and dismantle his bed, dragging its pieces into my room and reassembling it. If he's going to sleep in my room, which doesn't bother me, he's going to sleep on a bed and not the floor.

He comes back in from the roof, climbing in through the window. I look up from the laptop that Natasha pickd up for me as a 'thanks for helping me save the world from evil aliens and Norse gods' present, where I am lost in Wikipedia somewhere, studying caffeine molecules. I don't even remember how I got to that article. What people say about 'wiki hopping' is right. It's easy to get lost in that mess.

"Hi, Bucky."

He sits on the window sill a moment, then finally looks at me. "Hi."

"Are you okay?" I ask like I've asked a million times before.

And the expected response is, "yeah, fine." He straightens and closes the window behind him. "It's chilly tonight."

I check my weather widget on my computer. "It's supposed to be in the upper forties tonight," I say, confirming his assessment. "Fall's setting in."

He nods once in response, then glances over at the clock. "It's late." It's not, it's only ten. "Don't you have work in the morning?"

"No, tomorrow's my day off," I tell him. "I think you lost track of the days again, Bucky. We need to get you out in the world so you can keep up with the calendar better."

He grunts in what might be agreement, what might be the Winter Soldier's version of a whine. I never know on these days. "Probably."

We've had this argument before; he doesn't remember how to do anything but kill people, and that doesn't give many good options for a career, especially since he's no longer willing to follow orders from anyone but maybe me, so that rules out the military. I don't want to go back to the army, either. The wars going on now don't sit well on my stomach, I don't want anything to do with them.

It's crossed my mind a few times to suggest we go freelance, mercenaries for hire. God knows we'd get enough contracts with our reputations, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to try that route. So I leave that idea where it belongs in the back of my mind.

"I'm going to bed," he says, starting for the back hall.

"Goodnight, Bucky," I call after him, returning to my wiki hopping.

"Night."

I almost count off the seconds until he speaks up from the hallway. "Steve? Where's my bed?"

If I weren't so concerned for his well-being, that probably would've made me laugh for how absurd the question was.

I shut down my laptop and get up, joining him in the hall. "It's in my room," I tell him.

Bucky stares at me as if I've grown a second head or a third arm. "Why is my bed in your room?"

I cross my arms and lean against the wall. "Because you keep sleeping in there. You sleepwalk, Bucky, and about half the time you end up on the floor in my room. I figured if you wanted to sleep in there, you should at least sleep on a bed." Before he could do more than open his mouth to protest, I lift a hand to shush him. "I don't mind. We've shared closer quarters before, I genuinely do not mind bunking with you. I just ask that you actually sleep."

Bucky sighs, turning away. "I'm not sleepwalking," he says. "I just can't sleep." He looks over at me. "How did you know about that, anyway?"

Okay, I'm surprsied he's awake during those times. "I hear your door opening. I'm a light sleeper, Buck, always have been. You knew that. I'm surprised you've never heard me checking on you."

He doesn't answer right away, staring at the ground. "Put my bed back in my room, Steve," he says. "I'll start sleeping. I didn't mean to wake you."

I straighten, crossing the few feet between us to rest my hand on his shoulder. "It's fine, Bucky. If you can't sleep, that's fine. If you're not sleepwalking, then you're going into my room on purpose. And if that'll help you sleep, I have no problem with it."

Bucky doesn't make eye contact with me the whole time, studying the ground like it might reveal secrets of the universe if he only stares long enough. "I don't like imposing."

Oh, Bucky. I do the only thing I could think to do, I pull him into a hug. "C'mere, you jerk. You're not an imposition. You could never be an imposition to me."

He stiffens in my grip, then relaxes, returning the hug awkwardly. He's been weird about affection since coming home. We weren't terribly touchy-feely as kids, but we also weren't afraid to show that we cared, either. Now, it seems like he's forgotten how to do that. It makes me really wish I could hit Pierce or Zola for what they did to him.

"Fine," he says quietly against my shoulder. "You win. Bastard."

I smile, then pull back, both hands on his shoulders. "Come on, let's get some sleep. The cupboards are getting empty, we need to go grocery shopping tomorrow."

He crinkles his nose like a child told to take out the trash. "I used to be the world's greatest assassin, now I'm checking celery to make sure it's not rotting to death."

I laugh. "Even assassins need to eat, Bucky." I put an arm around his shoulders, turning him towards our bedroom. "Come on, let's go to bed."

His cold metal hand reaches up and grabs mine. "All right."

I stay awake late that night, occasionally glancing over to where Bucky is sleeping across the room. He seems to be actually sleeping, and not getting up to wander. It's about two in the morning before I decide he's not going anywhere, and let myself fall asleep as well.

When I wake in the morning, he's still in bed, sleeping.

I take the small victories where I can get them.


End file.
